Western short stories Bio. of Don Emigh
I've written stories in several genres and had fiction published in a regional magazine.
I grew up in the West - Arizona and Colorado - with some early adult years spent in South Dakota at Pierre. Yes, just across the river from Casey Tibbs' Ft. Pierre--and at the same time, too (late '40's). He was a hero of mine, back in those days. Now, my wife and I live in Seattle, Washington.
I wrote "Prairie Wells" as a series of short stories for the entertainment of my grandsons. The stories hung together so well, centered on the character of Dade Foster, that I combined them for a novella. "Poco Muerte" was started with the same idea in mind, with the character of the the gunman Quade on center stage. I'm still working on this series - with the help of my grandson!
Prairie Wells, This story is told on five parts.
What Really Happened at Prairie Wells...Read the full story of Prairie Wells here.
Reinert put his elbows on the bar and leaned across and stared at the bartender. He said, "I got three men out there, amigo. I'm going to ask again, where's El Cerdo? I know he's somewhere here in Poco Muerte. You know where he is since you got the only saloon in town. Where is . . ."...Read More of Poco Muerte
An Afternoon Outside Fort Yuma
Wilcox lifted the carbine with one arm and rested it on the sandy embankment. Blood from his left arm had soaked his shirt. He rolled slightly to the right to look at his arm, and it was bad. Muttering curses, he thought, "This is it. After all the close calls, here's the one I'm not going to ride away from."
How many Apaches there were he had no way of knowing, but if they hadn't already surrounded the depression in which he lay, he knew they would be doing exactly that. It wouldn't be long...Read More of An Afternoon Outside Fort Yuma
Mahan slumped in his saddle, now totally discouraged. He had topped the rise only to look down on a sere and wasted valley white with alkali and shimmering with heat. The same as yesterday. The parched, bare hills across the valley were exactly like the hill his horse had just climbed. Methodically, carefully, Mahan looked up and down the valley. There was no tell-tale stand of cottonwood or willow. The valley gave not the slightest sign of water anywhere within its basin...Read More of Mahan's Lake